Chosen and Joined
by Bathorybabe
Summary: When a group of vampires seek to bring the blight to America, a hole in the dimensional fabric is torn open and Faith is pulled into Ferelden, lading right in the path of the gray wardens. Willow and the scoobies do their best to bust her out, but as she journeys through Thedas, Faith can't help but wonder if maybe THIS is exactly what she was chosen for. A BtVS and DA crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh yes, this is happening. I went there, brace yourselves. Basically I had this uber fangirl geek out of an idea and now it won't leave me alone. I have no idea if this is going to go anywhere or if it will even be any good (gotta say, I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I'm holding out hope that other chapters will come far easier than this one) but I thought it would be fun to give it a whirl.**

**It goes without saying that this is AU (how can you do a crossover without it being AU? Seriously?). Back story is as follows:**

**Buffyverse: After season 7 but not really even remotely in the season 8 comic book canon (because the comic was bananas and very odd). Faith is living in Cleveland, Ohio (the location of the other American Hell mouth). So we have reformed Faith, not all murdering psychopathic Faith. **

**Dragon Age: No origin warden was recruited. All other characters are here though! Zev, Leliana, Morrigian, the entire band of misfits. **

**Basically I figured if anyone was pulled from a reality similar to ours into the world of DA who better than the slayer who can already kick butt, understands the concept of dimensions and magic, and doesn't so much as flinch from battling monsters? And if I was going to pull a slayer in, why not make it Faith, who is far more interesting and badass than Buffy ever was. **

**So yeah, hope you enjoy…R&R and all that jazz…**

**Also Bioware owns every bit of Dragon Age, I just merely fingerpaint all over their world. And the godlike Joss Whedon owns every bit of the buffyverse.**

She was dreaming. Over the years Faith had learned to recognize the feel of one of her slayer-enchanted dreams creeping through her mind, and she most defiantly felt the presence of it now. Something in the way that she glides from image to image, seamlessly and with a purpose that tips her off to the nature of such things. So while there was a feeling of "been there done that" to it all, she had to admit that the scenery was something of a shocker.

There was a tower. And there was a dragon.

_Well that's a new one_, Faith thought as she glided through disjointed images of rubble and broken bodies. Usually her dreams consisted of vampires and demons, at least those that had the feel of prophecy about them. But a dragon? That was definitely a new player in the slayer-verse.

As she walked through the ruined streets she found herself slowly climbing a blood soaked stairway, leading ever higher towards the screeching beast. Upon reaching the apex she glanced around to find men and women dying all around her as the dragon screamed high and horrible. In the distance she noticed a small, bespectacled man in a tweed suit throwing what looked to be like cheese slices at the massive beast, a serene smile on his lips. Faith shrugged, figuring to each their own as she watched the massacre around her.

"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?" a voice said softly, somehow clear as a bell above the din of battle around her. She glanced around sharply, seeking out the bearer of the voice and her eyes fell on a rather striking old woman gliding sinuously towards her, her steps heedless of the corpses that lay at her feet. With every footfall, the sound of fighting faded away, leaving the two in a sudden and suspended silence.

"You talking about your outfit or the dragon?" Faith asked, gesturing a hand to the elaborately studded maroon corset and metal armor that covered the woman. "Cause I gotta say, pretty bitchin for a reject from the D&D house of fashion."

"How fascinating," the woman replied, ignoring Faith's barb, "such a power that crackles from you. I have not felt the likes of it before. It is an ancient magic, wonderful and terrible in its weight."

"Sorry sister, but I don't do the whole magic rap. Sure, dabble around in some spells, mayhem and chaos ensue, but for my money there's nothing better than a good old fashion beat down. If you want all that mystical-Gaia crap you want to talk to Red, she's your girl."

"I know of the witch," the old woman said dismissively as she circled the slayer slowly, eyes peering deep, "the time for her and I to meet is still some distance away. But you? You are a surprise. This power you carry…it is all blood and ashes. It covers you until you are one with it. The loneliness of it stretches back into distant worlds...it is a burden only few have known…those that have been…_chosen_."

"Clearly you're not up on your slayer history," Faith huffed, "We got ourselves a whole army of girls, just waitin' to do the right thing and die young."

"Ah yes, the end of the one and only, orchestrated by the other. Tell me, are you satisfied with your brave new world?"

"Never really thought of it," Faith said with a shrug as she watched the Dragon pick an armored man up in its massive jaws and bite down viciously. "Not like I have much choice. Blondie did an alright job of it, when you get down to it. Doesn't change the fact with hundreds of girls suddenly mad powerful you're bound to end up with a few who aren't in the fight for the right reasons."

"Like yourself?" the woman replied with a wry smile.

"Time was. But that's long past, I pull for the good guys now."

"You speak as if you know what such a thing is," the old woman laughed before turning her attention back to the battle being played out silently before them. Faith followed her gaze and watched as a man covered in scratched and dented armor jabbed a sword into the dragon's flank, causing the monster to hiss in anger and swept a great arc with its massive tail. The man was knocked off his feet and thrown to the ground mere inches from were Faith stood. She stared down at him and felt a jolt course through her as they locked gazes. Though his face was covered in gore she could make out the honey blond of his hair and the proud, strong lines of his jaw. She felt an odd and instant kinship with this man, something in her finding a shared burden. It was all very confusing and she shook her head, trying to rid herself of the feeling. Faith began to hold a hand out in offering, intending to help him to his feet but the old woman stepped before her to bar the way, a stern look on her face.

"Do you desire to help him, child? To throw your strength behind his and slay the terrible beast?"

"Sure, why not?" Faith said shrugging, "He seems decent enough. And while I'm shaky on what's happening, I'm pretty sure dragons aren't the cuddle and share your feelings type."

"Remember those words. The drums are sounding and the old god's rise. There are other worlds besides yours that require a defender."

"Thanks for the dire warning, grandma," Faith replied with a roll of her eyes. She felt the dream begin to tear, edges curling in as she swam back to consciousness. "I know that the confusing prophetic dreams are just a fun little slayer bonus, but I've kinda had my fill of this one. So unless you got some plain spoken wisdom to offer, I think I'll just get on my merry and forget all about this."

"Very well, child; perhaps the reason you were _chosen_ was for this," the woman's voice echoed as the battle before faded into nothing and she was left blinking rapidly at the ceiling of her bedroom. The dream would fade into a vague sort of memory, one she didn't ponder for very long, and eventually she would forget about it all together…at least until Willow came knocking on her door two months later.

~oOo~

"A timely finish wouldn't be out of the question here, Red!" Faith called out as she staked what felt like her tenth vampire of the evening. Like most things in her life the night had definitely _not_ gone according to plan. It was supposed to be a simple walk in, kill the beasties, do a little hocus pocus and everyone goes about their merry way…well, as merry as you can get in Cleveland. But once again, something had gone wrong and now Faith and the three new slayerettes she had brought along for the job where furiously trying to battle a literal army of vampires as Willow went about performing her little light show of magic.

The witch had shown up two days before with the warning of bad things to come; apparently a group of vamps were trying to raise some big nasty from the beyond and had caused a rift in the dimensional walls. Willow's plan was to mend the tear and Faith's job was to protect her while she did it. Not the most glamorous of callings, but she'd take what she could get. They had been expecting no more than ten vampires total when they attacked the abandoned warehouse that night; imagine Faith's shock when she burst into the building and found four times that number milling about. Without thinking her and the girls and leapt into the fray, exploding one vamp after another into dust as Willow hastily set up and began the spell.

Twenty minutes had passed and the witch showed no sign of being even closed to done. One of the slayerettes was down for the count and Faith had a fleeting moment of remorse for the girl before she was forced to face the next enemy that rushed her. The vampire barreled into her chest sending her sprawling across the room to collide with Willow.

"No!" Willow shrieked as she was knocked from the trance she had slipped into in an effort to better see the dimensional walls. Faith rolled her eyes and began to get to her feet but was suddenly jerked upright by her forgotten opponent. The vamp set his teeth against her neck and began to worry at the flesh, tearing open the wound and lapping her blood greedily. Faith hissed in outrage and brought an elbow back hard against his abdomen. The vampire grunted in pain, his mouth releasing her as he bent over to cradle his stomach. Faith didn't miss a beat before whirling about to plant her stake deep in his chest.

"You have to keep them occupied," Willow said urgently, "the wall; it's so close to breaking, the slightest upset could cause it to crack open."

"Doing my best here, Red, it's not like I'm playing tiddlywinks with my gal pals," she replied as she blocked a punch from an overweight, pock marked vampire and responded with one of her own. As Willow turned to restart the ritual, the chubby vamp got a lucky hit in and Faith's head cracked to the side, blood flying from her mouth to land upon the arcane symbol the witch had sketched on the floor. Willow's eyes widened as she felt the magic tremble and she barely had the time to choke out a warning as the world around them shifted.

Faith's eyes widened in shock as the ground shook below her, causing her to stumble back and into the circle of candles and herbs Willow had set up. Above her the air cracked open in a burst of electric purple, a violent wind whipping down. She had the barest moment to think _oh shit_ before she felt the pull of magic surround her and she was wrenched into the chasm.

Willow called out a frantic phrase in Sumerian, the power crackling along her hands as her eyes bled to black. With a sharp and fierce snap a barrier between the now open dimension and their world materialized in a ripple of shining blue. Within seconds it was plain to see that Faith had disappeared and something else altogether had taken her place.

~oOo~

"I still don't think we should trust her," Jory whispered as their little trio followed the strange woman back to Ostegar, "she's a witch after all."

"Yes, a witch who could very easily lead us to our destination, oh the horror," Daveth replied sarcastically, his dislike for the knight showing with every syllable.

Alistair himself kept him own counsel and ignored the two recruits constant bickering. It had been a long day full of darkspawn and creepy witch women and more than anything he wanted to crawl into his bed roll and let the fade claim him for a few blissful hours. However, he knew that Duncan would want him to stick around and help with the joining ritual so he tried to find what little reserve of energy he had and focus on the task ahead; he had a feeling it wouldn't end as well as Duncan hoped.

It wasn't that he had anything against Jory and Daveth personally, it was just…something was missing from both of them. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely off. He had a sneaking, ill, sort of feeling that at least one of these men, if not both, would not come out of the joining alive. Such thoughts were kept to himself as they trudged through the thick underbrush of the Kocari wilds, following the decidedly unfriendly and cold Morrigan as they made their way within sight of the Ostegar ruins.

Just as the broken towers came into view he felt a wave of otherness sweep through him and he pulled his sword free calling out a warning to his companions.

"Darkspawn!"

Jory and Daveth froze, eyes searching for the foul creatures. Alistair swore at their hesitance as a genlock emissary and two shrieks ran at them from behind a copse of trees. The two men eventually remembered themselves and quickly drew their blades. Alistair was somewhat surprised to see Morrigan sigh and whip a staff from her back, sending bolts of magic towards their foes.

The skirmish was tense and sloppy, and Alistair found himself in the position of calling out orders in the hopes that at least some of them were followed. He watched as Daveth fell, knocked unconscious by a pommel hit to the head. Jory was firmly on the defensive against a shriek, his massive sword too slow for the quick and lethal movements of the darkspawn before him. Clenching his teeth he swung at the Emissary, ruthlessly pressing his attack until he found victory.

Without warning the earth beneath his feet began to tremble and he felt magic suffuse the air around him. Convinced that his adversary was attempting to tear the veil he roared loud and long as he arced his sword high, severing the darkspawn's gruesome head from its shoulders. When the trembling did not stop, in fact grew stronger, he realized that some other force was at work around them, and he whipped his head furiously about, eyes seeking the only other mage nearby. The witch looked back at him, surprise plain on her face as she struggled to keep her footing as the dirt lurched and buckled below her.

The world exploded around them in a riot of power and light as the veil to the fade stretched and ripped open. Alistair shuddered as he prepared for the onslaught of demons that would pour though. He was shocked when no such creatures were forth coming and the veil snapped closed within seconds of its opening. Blinking rapidly at the space where just before a great act of magic had taken place he was startled to find himself staring at young woman, bleeding from her neck and dressed in little more than a short, tight fitting tunic and odd leather breeches. The woman's deep brown eyes locked with his and he felt the punch of her gaze hit him hard. Before he could inquire as to who or what exactly she was a large Ogre shambled into view, a sick smile on its face. Alistair watched in horror as the beast crouched down and set his horn directly in the path of the strange woman.

"Look out!" he cried as the massive beast pushed itself into a stampeding run.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ohmygod it's a miracle! An update! Sorry for the delay, I've gotten caught up in my fic ****Heavy are the Hearts that Wear the Crown**** so this took sort of a back seat. But I finally had the time to write another installment, so yeah, enjoy. **

"Look out!"

Faith had no time to even think about where she was as her instincts kicked in and she rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding being crushed underfoot of something she could only describe and big, nasty, and _ugly. _Whatever it was it was easily twice her size and it didn't take a slayer's instinct to tell her that the thing was most definitely not playing on the side of good.

Flipping quickly to her feet she saw a unconscious (dead?) man lying at her feet, a pair of long and unwieldy daggers cradled loosely in his hands. Without thinking she grabbed the weapons and turned to face the monster before her. The creature hissed; saliva and gore dripping from its open maw as lumbered closer.

"Hello gorgeous," she muttered as she quickly dived under its reach; scoring deep lacerations along its meaty thigh. It roared in outrage and swiped a massive hand towards her head, narrowly missing her with a whoosh of air. Faith quickly began to dance between its legs, ducking and dodging oversize fists and feet as she sliced the thing to ribbons. When the creature began to stumble from blood loss and fatigue she scrambled out of its path, and flipped a dagger in her had testing the weight before letting it fly. She smiled triumphantly as the blade sunk through the monster's right eye and it pitched forward to the ground, a pool of black and oozing blood seeping from the wound.

"Andraste's holy freckled ass, how did you _do _that?" a voice called out in utter shock and Faith whirled around, remaining weapon poised to strike should the bearer intend her harm. When she saw that the man who had spoke was covered in his own share of blood she relaxed, but stiffened immediately when she took in his face and felt a jolt of recognition.

"Oh you have got to me kidding me," she muttered as she recognized the not quite blond hair and chiseled features of the man she dreamt about not two months before.

"Seriously," he repeated, striding fast to stand before her, "I've never seen someone outside the Warden's take on an Orge single handed before…and I'm fairly certain there aren't many in the order stupid enough to try."

"You calling me stupid?" she bristled, a warning edge to her voice.

"Judging by what just transpired I'd have to be a special sort of fool to even imply such a thing," he replied with a smile. "Are you-are you alright?"

"Five by five," she said with a shrug, "better than sleepy over there. Remind me to thank him for the weapons if he ever decides to rejoin the living."

The man looked at her in confusion, mouth opening and closing on a hundred different questions and finding it difficult to settle on just one.

"Who are you?" he finally managed, a shrewd and calculating look in his eyes.

"Faith," she replied, tucking the dagger she still held behind her back. "What about you, tall, not-so-dark and handsome, you got a name that goes with that face?"

"Alistair," he replied with a slight blush. Faith smiled, amused at how easily she had managed to elicit a reaction from the man. Were she so inclined it would be a rather simple thing to bring him to his knees.

"Well, Al, mind tellin' me where I am, exactly?"

"You're in the Kocari Wilds," he said after a small clearing of his throat, "about half a day's walk from Ostegar."

"Yeah, not ringing a bell," she replied as she bent down to inspect the carcass of the beast she just killed, "how 'bout you just tell me what this fun dimension is called and point me towards the nearest witch and I'll be on my way."

"You're the one," a throaty voice called out and Faith glanced up to see a woman walking slowly towards her, "Mother will be most pleased to hear of your arrival."

"Whoa, check out the skank wear, I like," she said with a grin, "you and I will have to exchange fashion tips before I leave."

"What on Theadas would your mother want with her?" Alistair asked perplexed.

"Do not strain yourself trying to figure out the answer," the woman hissed before returning her attention to Faith, "You will come with me. Flemeth is not known for her patience."

"Whoa sister," Faith said with her hands up, "You'll learn real fast I'm not one for fallin' in line and taking orders. Ask the watchers council…or what's left it, they'll be more than happy to tell you about my history with that stuff."

"You seek a witch, yes?" the woman replied with a frown, "Mother is one such that would fit that title."

"She's not going anywhere," Alistair interjected with a grave voice as he stepped close to her, his had pushing the hair away from her neck.

"Back off," Faith warned flinching away. Alistair ignored her and gently turned her head, exposing her neck in one long line.

"She's been bitten," he said softly, "she's probably infected with the taint."

"Being used as a vamp's chew toy comes with the job description," Faith said angrily and she pushed Alistair away from her, "doesn't mean I'm 'infected' as you so eloquently put it."

"She needs to take the joining…as soon as possible," Alistair continued, completely ignoring her.

"I don't have to do jack shit, pal," she spat angrily, before turning back to face the woman watching their exchange with placid eyes.

"You're mom's a witch? Lead the way, the sooner I can get back to Cleveland the better."

"Faith, you don't understand," Alistair pleaded as he grabbed her wrist, "you'll die without the joining. It's the only way."

"No _you_ don't understand," she retorted, punching him in the jaw, "this little bite mark? Nothing special. I've been gutted like a catfish and I'm still standing. So save your precious 'joining', all I care about is finding a clearly marked exit from this dimension and going back to my shitty life. Got it?"

Alistair rubbed his jaw, eyes clearly shocked that she had lashed out at him. She felt a twinge of regret at her actions, but shook off the feeling and narrowed her eyes at him, her posture set in a fighting stance, clearly indicating her intent should he push her.

"Fine," the man said after a pause, a hint of sorrow in his voice, "just know I tried to help. May the maker watch over you."

Faith watched him go, a little surprised that he had given in, but relieved all the same that he hadn't forced her to beat him into submission. After he had roused his companions, the trio trudged off into the distance, the trees and underbrush swallowing them from sight.

"Lead the way, skanky," Faith said after a moment, turning to face the woman.

"You may call me Morrigan," she replied through clenched teeth.

"Whatevs, let's just get this over with," the slayer replied with a roll of her eyes. She followed Morrigan in the opposite direction of Alistair and his men, unable to stop herself from glancing over her shoulder with a strange sense of foreboding, as if a part of her knew she was walking away from something big.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** ** A day later than I promised but hey, it's better than the two weeks between the previous chapters! A note about story telling, occasionally I'll check in with the Scooby gang (like I do here) but for the most part this fic will be centered around Faith and her trials during the blight. The Scooby gang do have a purpose, however, which will play out in future chapters.**

Willow sighed wearily as she inspected the corpse of the….thing that had taken Faith's place when the dimension had ripped open.

"I'm telling you, Giles, it's like nothing we've ever seen," she muttered into the pressed to her ear, nose wrinkling as she got a full whiff of the stench coming off the creature. "It's clearly a hybrid of some kind…definitely descended from humans…but also… you know, not."

After the dimensional walls had shifted and Faith vanished before their eyes, the monstrosity had appeared before them, a guttural battle cry rising from its throat. Willow was instantly repulsed by the pale, grey pallor of its mutilated skin, and the sharp, toothsome grin that seemed to be perpetually etched on its face. The remaining two slayerettes had immediately leapt into action while Willow hastily attempted to repair the rift. It had been a near thing, but in the end one of the girls got lucky and beheaded the beast just as Willow managed to close the gateway. Five minutes later she was on the phone to Giles relaying the bad news.

"Without more of a description, I'm afraid I'll be of little help," Giles replied, his voice statically and muffled through the phone. "I'm more concerned about Faith at the moment. Are you sure she was transported through the portal?"

"Yes, Giles! That's what tends to happen when a mystical hell dimension opens. We've done this before, remember?" she replied impatiently.

"Willow?" one of the slayerette's called out, her voice thin and weak.

"Just a minute, Chelsea," she replied dismissively before returning her attention to the conversation at hand, "Giles, I'm sorta flying blind here, only, you know, in the metaphorical sense. I'd never actually _fly_ if I were blind cause of the stupidity."

"Willow?" Chelsea once again called out, "I don't feel very good."

"Okay just hold on until-oh my god!" Willow rushed to the girl's aid once she got a good look at her appearance. Her once healthy, glowing skin looked sickly and ashen and a strange silver haze had covered the girl's golden irises.

"Willow? Willow! What's happening?" Giles demanded his voice sharp.

"I-I don't know," she wailed, "something happened to Chelsea…she's sick or-or possessed."

"I'm on my way," the watcher replied with a grim tone, "there's a flight out of Heathrow in about three hours. Keep the girl breathing and find a way to track Faith. We have to retrieve her from wherever she's managed to find landing."

"Yeah, no pressure or anything, I'll get right on that," Willow muttered before hanging up the phone and concentrating all her focus on easing Chelsea to the floor, magic already coursing through her in a effort to pinpoint the problem. Giles would arrive in a matter of hours, but Willow was witch enough to know that time was not on their side.

~oOo~

When Morrigan had said her mother, Flemeth, was a witch, Faith had been expecting an older version of Willow, a middle aged woman armed to the teeth with spell books and crystals. She had most certainly not been expecting to come face to face with the woman from her dream, albeit a slightly less intimidating version of her.

"Gotta say, I liked the other outfit better," Faith snarked as she took in the gnarled old woman standing before her. Gone were the studded corset, the armored thighs, and the flowing mane of shock white hair. Instead the woman bore a mop of thin grey tresses and wore nothing more than a simple, albeit threadbare and patched, dress of brown linen. But that gleam of knowledge, the power that seemed to radiate from her very being, all that remained the same.

"One finds that traipsing through the woods in such a thing impractical," Flemeth replied with a grin. "I see you have found your way to our fair land. And just in time, it would seem. There is much to be done."

"Well, someone else is going to have to do it, because I'm full up on burdens of my own," Faith said with a shrug before gesturing to a sullen Morrigan. "Skanky here says you're a witch. Just so happens I'm in the market, so what say you open me up a portal, shoot me back to home sweet home, and we can both go about our lives?"

"Skanky? Oh, you I like," Flemeth chuckled as she shot her daughter a bemused look.

"Oh goodie, I've got a fan club, but back to that portal-"

"I'm afraid such a thing is not possible," Flemeth interrupted coolly, "at least not at the moment."

"Let me guess…I scratch your back you scratch mine?" Faith muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"You'll find that Mother rarely acts without first securing a debt from those foolish enough to seek her aid," Morrigan remarked, a grin quirked on the corners of her mouth.

"And Morrigan tells you this as if she is not guilty of the same thing," Flemeth stated dismissively, "But you are right, child. Should you wish to return home you must first accomplish what you were called here to do."

"Hate to break it to ya, but I already got a calling," Faith seethed, "comes with a lifetime guarantee of blood and death, not really looking for another."

"Yes, I know all about your struggles," Flemeth replied, "and it is for that precise reason why you are here."

"And do I have you to thank for that?" Faith asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No, I merely foretold your arrival. The fault of such a thing lies squarely on chance and circumstance."

"Fine, just tell me what I need to slay so I can get the hell outta here," Faith replied wearily.

"If only it were that simple," Flemeth said with an evil grin. "Despite what you may think, child, I do not have the power to return you to your world. Should I tear the veil to the fade, the gateway you so desire will not appear."

"Seems to me if I got sucked in then there has to be a way to suck me back."

"There very well might be, but those magics are long lost, even to me," Flemeth replied with a touch of sadness to her voice, "When magic is chained and beaten into submission, the knowledge of such power is lost to memory and existence. There was a time I could do as you asked…but no longer. We must rely on the red-headed witch to return you from whence you came."

"And here I thought you were going to give me bad news," the slayer muttered dryly after a pause. "Okay, I get that you don't have the juice to send me back, but if that's the case I'm not quite clear on this whole 'what you've been called here to do' mumbo jumbo. If you can't get me where I'm going, I'm a little fuzzy on why I would do you a favor."

"I may not have the power," the witch said, voice gone cold and steely, "but I am not without means. I know the time and place of your departure, Faith, more importantly, I know the means by which you achieve it."

"Then sing out, sister," Faith said, taking a menacing step towards the old woman as she cracked her knuckles in anticipation. "I'm not one for being held hostage. You may look human, grandma, but my slayer sense is all a tingle, which means you ain't exactly a member of the tribe. That puts you firmly on the list of things I get to kill without remorse."

Flemeth laughed at her bravado, the sound fair crackling the air with power. Faith hesitated as she watched the old woman's skin stretch and flex, bones shifting beneath the flesh. Those woodland eyes bled to an eerie red and Faith swore she could hear the sound of great wings beating on the air.

"I am something you have no comprehension of, girl," the witch said menacingly, her features taking on a reptilian cast.

"Mother," Morrigan interjected with a sing song voice, "try to remember that we have need of the girl."

Flemeth shot those otherworldly eyes to the side, a low growl rising from her throat. Morrigan stood passive under that stare and Faith had to give her points for refusing to flinch. Eventually Flemeth inclined her head ever so slightly and in a blink of an eye, her features snapped back to normal.

"Very well," the witch replied, her voice even and formal as if nothing out of place had happened. "I shall give you answers, but only after you have taken the steps necessary to complete your journey."

"Just like that? Are we all going to ignore the fact that you just when evil hell bitch on me?" Faith sputtered in disbelief. When Flemeth said nothing, simply stared her down with a gaze that seemed to have the weight of centuries behind it, she sighed in resignation. "Fine, whatever. Just tell me what to do so I can get back to where I belong."

"See out the Grey Warden, the one from your dreams. Accept what he offers and I shall reward you with answers," Flemeth ordered dismissively as she turned away to open the door to her ramshackle hut.

"And after I find this guy and let him have his mystical way with me, I do what? Tromp all the way back here just to get answers?"

"Patience is a virtue, child," Flemeth said wryly, "given time we will meet again, and I shall have the answers you seek. Now be gone, Morrigan will show you the way."

"Come along," the younger witch stated in a put-upon tone. Faith rolled her eyes but turned to follow.

"You know, time was I would have laid the smack down on anyone who talked to me like that," the slayer muttered, "but now? I just back away and fall in line. Look at me, all grown up in big sister's clothes. B would be so proud."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This one was long and difficult to write. I can't stand the exposition that is required in crossovers…ya know, the whole "where did you come from," "I have no idea what you're saying" "where am I" stuff. We as the readers know all this and it's very boring and frustrating to write. I sorta touch on it, but for the most part I'm going to completely skip it and just summarize it in the next chapter. **

**Also, the very talented and lovely Apollo Wings just left me a lovely present on her Satinalia Prompts story. Apollo is incredibly talented and you should check out her work and leave a prompt! You will not be disappointed, I promise!**

**And for those of you following "Heavy Are the Hearts" I promise another chapter up in a day or two.**

**Thanks for reading, R&R if you please!**

"This is where we part ways," Morrigan said, her voice irritated and put out.

"Well, Skanky, it's been real and it's been fun, but I can't say it's been real fun," Faith muttered as she stared up at the crumbling stone ruins. It had taken another day of walking through the swampy, humid wilderness to reach the Grey Warden's base at Ostegar. Faith was still very unclear as to what exactly the order did, and Morrigan had been less than forthcoming with information. From the few scraps of conversation the witch had deigned to throw her way she understood that they fought creatures called darkspawn, monsters of the same ilk she had slain when she first arrived in this dimension, and they were an ancient order who dedicated their lives to ending the blight…whatever that was.

"What are you waiting for? Shoo!" Morrigan trilled impatiently and Faith rounded on her in agitation.

"I'm sorry, did you just 'shoo' me?" she snarled.

"You are standing there without movement," the witch countered patiently, "Perhaps you were waiting for a command? I therefore provided one."

Faith bit her tongue on the litany of insults that welled up inside of her and turned her back on the infuriating woman. Glancing once more at the wall of stone before her she set her feet and took off at a sprint, hands slapping against stone as she sought to scale the wall. Once she had managed to hoist her legs over the wall, she spared one more glance for Morrigan, middle finger thrust high in the air; the witch simply cocked her head to the side, confusion puzzling her features. Sighing inwardly, Faith turned her attention to dismounting from her position but was rudely interrupted by a hand clasping harshly to her ankle and pulling forcibly down.

Faith hit the ground and felt the air in her lungs leave in a painful rush. Blinking up at the sky she was surprised to find the point of a sword leveled at her throat and a scowling, scarred man glaring down at her.

"State your purpose," he barked out, voice gravely and rough.

"Right now my purpose is relearning how to breathe," she gasped, "what the fuck is your problem?"

"Upon pain of death, state your purpose!" he commanded once more, pressing the tip of the sword against her flesh.

"Chill, sir pokes-a lot, I'm looking for a Grey Warden," she said angrily as she knocked the sword away, "Tall, handsome in that bodice ripper kinda way, name of Alistair?"

"And you thought to find him in the King's encampment?" the man asked, the disbelief fair dripping from his voice.

"King's what now?" she asked as she pushed herself to her feet, hands brushing twigs and debris from her already soiled tank, "Look, just do me a solid and point the way, ok? The last two days have sucked beyond the telling of it and I just want to find this guy so I can take whatever it is he's offering up these days and go about my life, got it?"

"Whatever it is he's offering, eh?" the man said, his voice instantly shifting to lecherous leer in the span of a heartbeat, "I didn't think the Wardens held with camp followers."

"What? Is that some kinda groupie for the historical reenactment brigade?" Faith asked, her patience wearing thin.

"Why not save yourself the walk, dearie," the man said, snaking a free hand along her back, fingers gliding ever downward to end with a groping squeeze to her buttocks, "I can offer you something right here."

"That's it," Faith declared before quickly ripping the man's hand from her ass and twisting harshly, bones snapping with a satisfying crack. When the scream that followed brought four other armed men running towards her she sighed and raised her fists. "This just keeps getting better and better," she muttered before striking out at the approaching threat.

~oOo~

Alistair stared hard at the blood that now flaked on the ground before him. His worst suspicions had been proven, and both Jory and Daveth lay dead, their bodies hastily buried under six feet of dirt with as much ceremony as was afforded in this uncertain time. For the twentieth time he wondered what would have happened had Jory not panicked and drew steel on Duncan. Would he have survived the joining? Or would he have joined their companion, coughing up blood onto the stones below as he struggled against the taint waging war in his veins?

"It is a harsh reality of our duty, Alistair," Duncan murmured quietly, and the templar turned to find his mentor standing silently behind him.

"I know, Duncan, it's just… death finds us wherever we go. We die on the field, or in the deep roads, our lives cut short…it seems a bit unfair that it should seek us out when we pledge our lives to the order," Alistair muttered, his attention once more fixed on the bloodied ground.

"Would you have us tell the truth?" Duncan countered gently, "Give a full accounting of the risks?"

"Oh yes, there's a recruitment slogan," Alistair chuckled darkly, "Join the Grey Wardens! Now offering certain death! I bet they'll be lining up by the hundreds."

"And so it is that we hold our secrets close. Our purpose is far too great to reveal the price we pay. You must not let it bother you."

"It doesn't bother me, not really," Alistair said in frustration as he turned back to face the man, "I know not everyone survives the joining, and this isn't the first one I've witnessed where all the conscripted lie dead, but…"

"But something still troubles you," Duncan said with a shrug.

"There was a girl," Alistair hedged after a moment's pause, "in the wilds."

"I told you not to concern yourself with the witch, Alistair," Duncan replied reproachfully.

"Not Morrigan, someone else. She was…Andraste she was amazing. Appeared out of nowhere and took down an Ogre, singlehandedly, with nothing more than a pair of daggers, and had I two coppers to rub together I'd bet she didn't even break a sweat."

"She sounds impressive, Alistair, but I am unclear as to why she should bother you," Duncan prodded, clearly wanting the young man to get to the point.

"Faith…that's her name, had been bitten," Alistair said sighing, his tone regretful, "I feared she would be tainted, and so I insisted she return with us and partake in the joining."

"That is not a decision for you to make," Duncan said with a shake of his head.

"Trust me, Duncan, had you seen what she was capable of…you'd have conscripted her in less time than it takes for a dwarf to belch his name," Alistair rushed to explain. "I can't help but think she belongs here…and I let her walk away. What if I could have helped her?"

"Alistair-" Duncan began but was interrupted by the sound of raised and startled voices coming from the camp's entrance. Quirking an eyebrow in question Alistair quickly began to walk towards the disruption, Duncan following closely behind. As they neared the wooden gates, the pair quickly came to a halt as one of Teryn Loghain's guards was thrown through the air to land hard at their feet. His hands already moving to the sword strapped tight to his back, Alistair's eyes surveyed the scene with a shrewd eye, seeking out the enemy. Moments later he relaxed and felt himself grin foolishly when he realized just who was behind the unexpected violence.

Faith was like poetry in motion as she fought against a contingent of five men, her movements fluid and powerful. She bore no weapons but her fists and wielded them with deadly grace as she sought to subdue those foolish enough to provoke her. When a guard turned on her, shield darting out to smash against her chest, Alistair felt his jaw tighten in anger and he raced to intervene.

"Hold!" he cried, feet pounding over the stones, "I said hold damnit!" When he had reached the fracas he angrily shoved men aside, seeking to reach the girl before she could sustain further injury. Once the situation had been diffused Alistair rounded on the man who had dared to strike her with his shield and angrily demanded answers.

"Found this one trying to sneak into the King's encampment," another guard answered, wrist cradled close to his chest, "when I sought to detain her she turned into a mad woman and attacked me."

"For future reference the next guy who tries to 'detain' me by grabbing my ass is going to get real up close and personal with the pavement," Faith snapped, eyes blazing with battle fever.

"Faith," Alistair murmured, seeking her attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Duncan quietly murmur to the bruised and battered guards, urging them to return to their duties.

"Oh, hey Al," she said dully as she gingerly rubbed a hand across her chest, wincing in pain. Alistair couldn't help but trace the progress of her delicate fingers as they probed her flesh for signs of injury.

"Eyes front boy-o," Faith said drolly and Alistair's head snapped up in embarrassment, cheeks flushing red. "Take a lesson from assface there and don't even think about going down that road."

"What are you doing here?" he asked hurriedly, desperate for a change in topic. "Last I saw you were on your way to find the witch of the wilds."

"Yeah, well, I'm just full of surprises. Turns out my yellow brick road led me here," Faith said wearily as she stretched her arms up high, grimacing slightly at the feel of something tugging unpleasantly, "the wicked witch of the wilds sent me here to seek you out. Said you we're gonna offer me something. Damn! I think that perv dislocated my shoulder. Hold me."

Alistair froze in place at her words, uncertainty and eagerness over coming him all at once. When he made no effort to move, Faith rolled her eyes and roughly grabbed his hands, placing one on her injured shoulder and the other against her slender waist. He could not help but feel the muscles tensing beneath his palm, coils of strength that spoke of her precision and power. With a grunt of pain, Faith jerked her body forward and Alistair felt the joint snap into place with a painful burst.

"Better," she murmured, rotating the injury, "that one ain't been quite right since the fight with the smurfettes."

"Smurfettes?" Duncan inquired, finally deigning to insert himself in the exchange, "Were you attacked by a troop of bandits my lady?"

"I'm no lady pal, but thanks for the sentiment. And no, they were this demon cult, the sisterhood of Jhe. Babes were wicked rowdy, hell bent on destruction. Kinda had to admire them, really."

Alistair's brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to make sense of her words. It was as if he was able to catch the very edge of her meaning, but lost to the actual syllables. She spoke of things he had never heard, and her accent betokened a far away, uncivilized land completely foreign to him.

"Look, I'm just trying to get back home, so can you offer me whatever it is you have to give so I can run back to the scary witch and end this ' A Slayer in King Arthur's Court' crap?" Faith pleaded impatiently. At her words Alistair was reminded of what he had so desperately sought to give her when they first encountered each other in the wilds. Eyes flicking to her neck he was shocked to find her bite mark rapidly healed, the flesh pink and tender but fully closed; evidence of the taint nowhere to be found.

"Your neck," he breathed, hands reaching out to brush the skin, "it's…"

"I told you, fang marks equals badge of honor with my crew," Faith said angrily trying to wiggle out of his reach. Alistair was having none of it and grabbed her close, eyes still transfixed by the strange mark that should have been black and oozing, not healthy and flush. Sure that he was mistaken, that the original bite was on the other side and this was a new, freshly cleansed injury he roughly turned her head to the side only to discover a scarred over bite, delicate and white.

"Treading dangerous ground here, Al," Faith warned, "you got about ten seconds to let me go before I go 'all take back the night' on you."

"Duncan," Alistair called out, completely ignoring her threats, "look."

The elder Grey Warden peered over his shoulder and let out a small noise of surprise. Had it been anyone else, Alistair would have called it a gasp, but there were certain things his commander did not do; tolerate whining, eat cheese due to his sensitive digestive system, and at the top of that list: gasp.

"How is she still alive?" Duncan mused, his curiosity peaked as he ran probing hands over the injuries, "She should most certainly have perished, or been completely transformed into a ghoul. I have seen nothing like this."

The tensing of her muscles was the only warning the two men had before Faith erupted in a lethal snap of fists, throwing them both to the ground, completely overwhelmed by her speed.

"Okay, invade Faith's personal bubble time is over," she declared, placing a foot upon Alistair's chest in a warning for him to stay put, "next person to touch me is going to have a very intimate conversation with my fist, got it?"

"We're just trying to understand, my lady," Duncan said soothing as he pushed himself to standing

"Name is Faith, not 'lady,'" she snapped, eyes still furious, "and let me make it simple for you: Vamp bit me, I dusted him. End of story." When she was met with nothing but blank stares she sighed and endeavored to elaborate further. "Vampires. They of the pointy teeth and bumpy forehead. Blood suckers. Anything?"

"Where did you come from?" Alistair asked in wonder.

"Cleveland by way of Boston," was here terse reply, "We're getting off track, once again. What is this, like a theme with you guys? God! Just…fucking offer me something so I can get home!"

"Prepare her for the joining," Duncan said after a tense moment, "clearly she has skill and if she can survive being bitten twice I rather like her chances of surviving."

"That's what you're offering me? Membership into your LARPing club? I don't freaking believe it," Faith muttered as she removed her foot from Alistair's chest, freeing the man to stiffly rise. "Fine whatever, was never much for a joiner, but there's a first time for everything."

"I expect a full accounting of just who and what you are, however," the man countered, his voice firm and commanding.

"Hey, I'll tell you anything you want to know…hell, I'd even wear a dress if it meant I'd get back to my world faster. Let's just get this over with, ok?"

Duncan gestured for her to follow as he turned to lead them back to the Grey Warden encampment. Alistair watched them leave, a thousand thoughts fighting for supremacy in his head. One thing he was certain of, he not only suspected Faith would survive, but the tale of her origin would be something he would have neither understanding nor comprehension of…a thought that both terrified and thrilled him to no end.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Finally, an update! Glad to actually be getting into the story of the game. Expect an appearance from part of the Scooby gang next installment!**

"One?" Alistair repeated for the hundredth time. Faith grunted in response and nodded her head, the action causing her brain to slosh around in her head and she winced at the pain. She was fighting the mother of all headaches, a side effect of her joining. Nothing in her long life as a slayer had prepared her for the experience. It was as if evil had filled her veins and she could taste hatred on her tongue, strong and acrid. Within seconds she felt connected to thousands of minds, spanning out into the world and it was almost painful to feel that weight. As a slayer she had felt something similar, a lineage of sisterhood reaching back into primal times, but where that had been empowering this had been…frightening.

"Just one woman?" Alistair prodded, his tone disbelieving.

"Yep. One girl in all the world, chosen to fight scary monsters and die young," Faith said irritably, closing her eyes in the hopes that the pain would leave her skull. She was suddenly grateful to be hidden from view, seeing as she hated to show weakness in front of anyone. After the joining Alistair had insisted she be better armed and whisked her off to the meager armory the warden's had temporarily set up. After much scrounging and flinging of armor he presented her with a few scraps of leather and told her to try the items out, a weird sort of grin on his face. And so here she was, stooped over in a canvas tent as she sought of clasp the awkward garments about her muscular frame.

"Well that's just…impractical," Alistair said after a moment, confusion evident in his tone. Faith smiled wryly and chuckled.

"Thing about my world? Gotta have balance. Can't be tippin' the scales one way or the other or else, 'goodbye world, hello apocalypse.' Can't give the good guys too much of edge, ya know?" Faith pondered her words as she spoke, idly wondering if tipping the scales was exactly what Buffy had done when she unleashed the power of the slayer into the world.

"How do you even…Maker, it just seems like you can't accomplish much with just one girl," Alistair protested, still stuck on the "one and only" aspect of slayer lore.

"Accomplish much?" Faith sputtered affronted, "I'm sorry, tell me again how many apocalypses you've stomped down?"

"Apocalypses, as in plural?"

"Evil never stops turning, Al," Faith said, arms stretching akimbo as she struggled with an awkwardly placed buckle, "Count's up to eight so far, and that's just since B and I got in the game."

"B?" Alistair asked confused.

"Buffy, the little miss tightly wound one and only original slayer," Faith said, voice instantly taking on the familiar defensive tone when talking about her counterpart. Despite the time and distance, she was never fully able to get over her inferiority complex towards the blonde slayer. Perhaps it was because when people spoke of Buffy she could hear the reverence and awe in their voices; whereas when they spoke of Faith she could her the hushed tones of disappointment ring in every syllable. Even now she waited to hear it in Alistair's voice, mentally shielding herself for the inevitable.

"What sort of a name is Buffy?" Alistair snorted in mockery, "And I thought you said there was only one. Trying to make ourselves special are we?"

"What can I say?" Faith said wryly, "maybe B was cuttin' it and the powers that be decided to call in the big dogs?"

"Well you do have a certain bitchy quality-" Alistair teased.

"Nothin' wrong with a healthy dose of wicked," Faith replied with a grin, "but if you want the truth, little miss blondie kicked it for a bit, and a new slayer was called. When that chick bit the dust, yours truly stepped up to the plate."

"This woman…died?" Alistair asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah, couple of times," Faith said nonchalantly. When stunned silenced greeted her she let out a chuckle. The laughter died on her lips and was replaced with irritation as she finally fixed the last strap of her armor in place and realized exactly what she was wearing. "Fuck that!" she exclaimed and burst out of the tent, Alistair whirling about at the sudden clamor. When he drank in her appearance his reaction was vastly different from hers if the scarlet blush on his cheeks was anything to go by.

"Please explain to me how _this_ is supposed to protect me?" she demanded, hands splayed over her bare abdomen.

"It's Dalish," Alistair offered, as if that were all the answer she needed.

"I'm don't care if it's fucking Yves St. Laurent," Faith seethed, "I'm not fighting in what basically amounts to some gamer geek's wet dream. And it has a freaking skirt!"

And it did have a skirt…of sorts. Large, belt like strips of hardened leather hung to her knees, a pair of light leather shorts worn underneath. Worst of all was the pathetic excuse for a "chest piece." It stretched tight over her chest, dipping low to reveal a line of cleavage, and ended just below her breast bone, leaving the large expanse of her tight, muscular stomach bare. Normally Faith was all for showing a little skin, but when something came with the name armor, it better damn well protect every part of her.

"I could try and find some chain mail," Alistair hedged, and Faith perked up at the thought, "but having seen you fight, I think it would do more harm than good. Unfortunately this is the only leather armor available in your size."

"Screw it," Faith said angrily, "give me back my clothes. I'm _not_ wearing this."

"Faith, you have t be protected-"

"Newsflash, Al, having six inches of my stomach laid bare for any Tom Dick or Harry to oogle is _not_ protected."

"But-"

"No," she insisted, voice firm, "I've spent the past five years kicking ass and taking names, and not once did I need some medieval Kevlar to keep me whole."

"Not completely whole," Alistair murmured after a moment, eyes sweeping her exposed flesh and landing on the puckered scar that cut low across her belly on her right side. He brought his fingers up to brush at the raised mark and Faith stiffened under his touch. "What caused this?"

"I did," she said, voice uneasy with the implications.

"You tried to gut yourself?" Alistair asked, doubt lacing the edges of his words.

"No, Buffy tried to, but valid choice considering what I'd done. I got…dangerous for a while. Now give me back my clothes."

Alistair looked her over, eyes filled with a warring mixed of anger and pity, and let out a soft sigh.

"No matter what you did, I can't imagine anyone wanting to cause you such harm," he said quietly before turning to retrieve her discarded clothes. He handed them to her gently and smiled, the edges tinged in pity. "I don't think I like this Buffy person very much."

"You'd be one of the few," Faith muttered, "and that better not be pity in your eyes, Al. I know how to wear my big girl panties and take care of myself. Don't need anyone feeling sorry for me…that kinda thing leads to badness, trust me."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the tent, silently ending the conversation and leaving painful memories behind.

~oOo~

As dusk fell over Ostegar Alistair found himself standing next to Faith, once more clad in her odd leather breeches and tight fitting cotton tunic. When he had inquired why her attire was so strange she simply stated, "I look hot in leather, and nothing said-bad ass chick like a super tight wife beater." Alistair was still unsure what exactly spousal abuse had to do with her clothing, and he mulled the words over in his head as King Cailan droned on and on about the glories of battle to come.

He had been relieved when the slayer had been introduced to his half-brother and not a flicker of recognition has passed her features. He had always loathed his royal bloodlines, and had a feeling Faith was not the type of woman to be impressed by nobility. And for some strange reason, he very much wanted her to be impressed. Maybe it was simply because the woman lived and breathed violence, the deadly grace of her every movement a promise of pain to come. As a warrior himself he could admire such a strength, and even though their techniques varied, he hoped she could see the same talent and training in him as well. Being a templar-trained warrior was something he was infinitely proud of, simply due to the fact that it was _his._ His accomplishment, not handed to him by right of birth. A bastard he may be, but he had always been coddled in a way, but his skill with a blade as something he had fought and strived for. In the end a sword doesn't care if you're of noble blood, it just cares if you can swing it effectively.

"We get it, captain shiny pants," Faith said gruffly, tearing Alistair from his reverie, "you think fighting is the tits. Hell, I even agree with you, so what's say we can the chatter and get to the pummeling?"

Alistair gaped at her in shock, and he was not the only one. The men that surrounded the king all glared at her with varying levels of upset, shocked that a woman would address the king in such a manner. Duncan looked disappointed, put out at her lack of decorum. A few guards snickered behind their helmets, Cailan looked baffled, and Tyern Loghain looked…Alistair couldn't quite tell what was going on behind the grizzled veteran's eyes. They seemed to be taking her measure, sizing her up and weighing her presence against some unknown standard. Whatever he decided about her in that minute seemed to displease him and he narrowed his eyes, leveling her with a gaze that could have flayed flesh from bone. Faith merely returned the stare with a challenging quirk of her eyebrow before returning her attention once more to the King.

"Well?" she prodded and Cailan jumped, clearing his throat.

"Yes, well. As I was saying, we need to ensure the beacon is lit at the proper time, and I suggest we send our very best to do the job: the Grey Wardens," The King said, once more his joyful self.

"And I once again urge you to reconsider," Loghain replied in his gravelly voice, "Your fascination with heroes of old are blinding you, your majesty. The wardens belong within their own ranks, and I urge you to focus on the seriousness of the matter at hand and stop living in your very own fairy tale."

"Whoa…check out Giles the bastard version," Faith said wryly, "anyone ever tell you you need to lighten up? Cause, dude…major attitude, and let's all marvel at me bein' the one to point that out."

"Careful girl," the Teryn growled, "that tongue of yours could very well lead you into trouble,"

"Trust me it has," she shot back wickedly, "never heard any complaints, though. Most men like the trouble my tongue can bring. Care to give it a go?"

Alistair choked at the imagery that suddenly bombarded him and Faith shot him an amused glance before returning her smug attention to Loghain. The man grit his teeth and pointedly ignored her taunts, turning once more to the many maps splayed out over the table.

"Your newest recruit is quite the spitfire, Duncan," Cailan said, interest coloring his voice. It made Alistair want to punch his brother in the throat.

"Yes," Duncan said disapprovingly, "I apologize for her behavior."

"Don't," the King replied with a grin, "I like spirit in a girl. Just ask my wife."

"Your Majesty, if we could return to the matter at hand," Loghain huffed impatiently.

"Of course. Duncan, please choose two of your Wardens to ascend the tower and light the beacon. I wish to send our very best."

"It will be done, your majesty," Duncan replied with a slight bow before fixing Faith and Alistair in his sights. "You two, come with me."

Alistair groaned, certain he was about to receive news that would make him very unhappy. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to turned into a glorified errand boy and placed out of harm's way. Faith slapped him on the shoulder before following their commander and Alistair watched her go, wondering how _she_ would react to being shuffled off to the side.

~oOo~

Faith breathed heavily as she sliced through muscle and bone, decapitating a snarling darkspawn. Her, Alistair, and two other men had stormed the tower, fighting their way through monster after monster as they sought to reach the apex of the tower.

She had initially been disappointed (or severely pissed depending on how you looked at it) when Duncan told her and Alistair that they would be the ones to light the beacon. She was a slayer, born to fight and bleed and eradicate evil, so being sent on such an unimportant errand had galled her. But when they had arrived at the tower, her little group had discovered the place overrun with darkspawn, and Faith had leapt into action, more than happy to slaughter the creatures.

After five floors of battle, however, the strain was starting to show, and she struggled to even out her breathing and center herself. Alistair was faring just as poorly, due to a heavy gash across his left side. Faith had to give it to the man, he just kept on going, refusing to let his injury slow him down. Took true strength to fight through something like that, and she smiled as he ran a Hurlock through with sword.

"This should be the top," he said breathlessly as he limped over to her, gaze trailing the staircase that stood before the, "Damn it! What are these darkspawn doing a head of the horde?"

"Is that complaining I hear?" Faith teased, "Suck it up, Al. Doesn't this kick way more ass than lighting some lousy fire?"

"Well, when you put it that way," Alistair said, his noe familiar goofy grin spreading across his face. Faith returned the sentiment before wearily climbing the stairs and opening the door, eager to accomplish what they set out to do. When she opened the door, however, she realized things had just gotten more complicated.

Their small group skidded to a stop, eyes coming to rest upon a giant ogre gorging himself on a pile of corpses. Faith narrowed her eyes and gripped her weapons tight, mentally flashing to the last time she had fought such a large creature. Without hesitation she rushed forward, heedless of the danger. Just as the Orge's meaty hands swung down to lift her up she dropped to the ground and slid beneath his spread legs, daggers flashing as she drew lone, ragged, gashes across his hamstrings. The beast roared in pain and staggered above her. Distantly she was aware of Alistair and their two companions rushing to join the fray, but she was too focused on eradicating her target that she didn't care. Snapping to her feet she launched herself at the creature's back, dagger's digging in and she used the momentum to climb ever higher, seeking out his thick, disgusting neck. It would have worked had the monster not bucked and twisted when Alistair sliced through the tendons at the Orge's ankle, and Faith was thrown to the ground, air rushing out of her lungs. She stumbled to her feet, pissed that her weapons were still lodged in the beast's back, too high for her to easily reach. Looking about for something to use she noticed a torch lodged in the wall nearby and she ran to it, already grinning at what she had planned.

The Ogre never saw it coming. One minute it was pummeling her companions, the next it was frantically trying to pat out the flames that licked up its side. The distraction was just what Alistair needed to hack at the creature's femoral arteries and soon the beast crashed to the ground, the shock of blood loss and burns too much to handle. Faith saluted Alistair who grinned wildly at her and the pair looked around, eyes finally taking in their surroundings.

"The beacon," Alistair panted, jutting his chin to the massive fireplace that dominated the far wall. Faith nodded and jogged over, pulling her worn Zippo lighter from her pocket. Alistair watched in fascination as she dragged the wheel across her pants in a quick motion, the flint sparking and the wick flaring to life.

"That's handy," he said after a moment and Faith shrugged.

"With how much these baby's cost? Better be."

Before Alistair could offer up a reply the door burst open and a hail of arrows rained down on the pair. Faith reeled as she was impaled through her shoulder, followed seconds later by one through her gut. As she fell to the ground she grunted in pain and glanced over at Alistair who lay prone on the ground, three arrows peppering his solid frame.

"Told you that armor wouldn't have done shit," she offered before darkness claimed her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So I have no excuse…took way too long to get this up…but here it is. Don't hate me. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, faved, followed, lurked, etc…I'm beyond surprised that this fic has garnered the interest it has!**

**For those following "heavy are the hearts" I posted an update last night…check it out!**

Willow retched into the toilet for the third time, emptying little more than air and water from her stomach, having heaved what remained of her dinner long before. "Keep the girl breathing," as Giles had so quaintly put it, had not been the issue. Chelsea had never once ceased to draw a breath, despite how ragged those inhalations sounded. No, what had been the issue had been what the new slayer had become.

Despite her best efforts, Willow had been unable to heal whatever had infected the girl. In fact, every time she filled Chlesea's body with the soothing glow of her magic, healing spreading through veins and tissue, she felt a darkness licking at her power, seeking to follow those tendrils of magic back into her. It had taken every ounce of self control not to pull away, to keep healing, and erect her strongest barriers between the darkness and her soul. In the end it had been for naught. Only hours after having collapsed, Chelsea's skin had sickened to a deathly gray, black patches scaled up her flesh in a sickening maze. Hours after that the girl had ceased her whimpering and instead began to babble all manner of twisted, nightmare inducing rants, the common theme of which revolved around a being by the name of Urthemiel.

_I will be the mother of monsters_ the girl had babbled, and Willow shuddered to remember the driving need that had dripped from the syllables.

"Willow?" a lightly accented voice inquired and Willow wearily rose to her feet, hand fumbling to flush the toilet as she did so.

"Coming," she called voice scratchy. After taking a few moments to rinse her mouth with water and compose herself, she stiffly made her way out of the bathroom and back into the warehouse proper. Willow had been unwilling to move Chelsea with the girl's health declining so rapidly, and so her and the two remaining slayerettes had camped out in the dusty building, each bone weary and frightened.

Rounding the corner, Willow felt herself go tingly with relief as she found Giles crouched before the ailing slayer, his glasses dangling loosely in one hand.

"Giles," she breathed, and stumbled towards him, arms already rising to embrace him. Giles smiled softly and held her close, hands reassuringly patting her back.

"Hello, Willow."

"It's so awful," she babbled, "I tried. I tried so hard but it wasn't enough. It's evil, Giles, I could feel it. It was crawling in me, trying to feed at the magic…I did everything I could but-"

"Shhhh…" he soothed, pulling back. "It's alright, Willow. I have the utmost faith that you did your very best. Is this…is this the beast in question?"

Willow's gaze followed his gesturing hand, eyes resting on the corpse of the unknown baddie.

"I have no idea what it is. I texted some pictures to Xander and Dawn, but their search has been less than fruitful…vegetable like in its unfruit-like state."

Giles said nothing but walked over to examine the creature, eyes gone calculating as he looked over every inch of the carcass. It was almost as if Willow could see him flipping through the pages of the large and all encompassing codex that made up his intellect.

"We found this too," she said, reaching to retrieve a worn tome from a nearby crate, "it was with the vamps' ritual setup. It's a form of magic I've never encountered, which irks me a little, being the big mama jamba witch that I am." It was heavy and leather bound, the pages crumbling from age. A flaking gold script cut across the cover, naming the book _The Magic of Theadas._ Giles gently took the volume, his brow furrowed, and cracked it open to a random page.

"Theadas," he mused quietly, "I know this..or something at any rate."

"Meat for the beast…must bring meat for the beast…must bring _mothers_," Chelsea growled from her corner, head rolling. Giles snapped his head at the sound, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Chain her. Now," he ordered, voice snapping. Willow widened her eyes in surprise and staggered back.

"Giles-"

"Do it, Willow. She may be placated now, but soon she is going to be driven by a maddening call, and will stop at nothing to follow the orders she is being given…and she will drag us all into her hell along the way," Giles said, voice grave and insisting.

"What is this, Giles?" Willow whispered, scared at how unsettled the watcher appeared.

"If I'm right…and I pray that I'm not, it is something I never thought to encounter," Giles turned his attention back to the tome in his hands. '"God helps us if those vampires sought to bring the Blight to our realm."

~oOo~

"I have a gift?" Buffy asked from across the campfire. Faith blinked rapidly and whipped her head around, startled at the sudden change in scenery. Last thing she remembered was lying prone on the tower's floor, arrows pointing skywards as darkspawn swarmed her and Alistair. Needless to say the last place she expected to wake up was in the desert with a fellow slayer.

"Death is your gift," an ancient voice intoned from over her shoulder. Faith whirled around and found herself staring into a pair of eyes that she had never before seen but yet knew without a second thought. Framed by caked, white mud, those dark and fathomless irises peered out at her with an understanding so great she felt it in her bones. This could only be one woman in all of history staring at her, and Faith fought the urge to alternately fall to knees in awe or take off running. She was looking at none other than the one and only original slayer: the Primitive.

"I was beginning to think you weren't real," Faith said softly, aiming for her trademark sarcasm but instead sounding small and hurt. She had heard stories of the Primitive, from Buffy and the other girls, but never had she been allowed a glimpse of the woman who was the source of her power. It had hurt, reinforcing the idea that she was never "slayer" enough to be allowed into the club.

"You had no need of me in the before," the slayer said in hushed tones. Behind them, Buffy continued to babble, unaware of their conversation.

"Am I, uh, interrupting something? 'Cause trust me, that chick can give a speech like nobody's business and I don't think she's slowin' down anytime soon," Faith asked nervously, thumb jerked over her shoulder to the blonde girl in question.

"She does not know of your presence. She thinks this wisdom is meant for her." Distantly Faith heard Buffy mention the death of her mother and she jolted in shock.

"This happened three years ago," she murmured, "Damnit…I'm getting' real sick of this dimension hopping. Hey, I have an idea, let's _not_ do the time warp again, ok?"

"You did not cross the time line," the Primitive said simply, composed as ever, "it is all connected, I merely reconstructed the folds to reach you. "

"And now that I've been 'reached' what comes next?"

"Every slayer has a gift," the Primitive began, "named the same though the manner in which delivered differs. The other…this one, has used her's already, but yours waits, readying itself for the time in which it is needed most."

"You mean these past years of using my BAMFy super powers has meant nothing? I got something even greater coming to me? Sweet," Faith said in wonder, excitement and trepidation coursing through her.

"You do not belong," a different voice intoned. Faith spun around and found herself staring into a twisted landscape of muted browns and mottled purple. Behind her, the desert heat pressed against her back and Faith struggled to comprehend how one place could be two things at once.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"You are both here and not," the Primitive explained, "you walk the valley of the Fade in Theadas but exist in the dreamscape of slayers. The magic is too complex to comprehend. Do not try."

"You do not belong," the other voice repeated and a ghostly specter materialized not five feet from her. The swirling white shifted form as it hovered near the border of desert and Fade. In one blink of the eye it was the most achingly beautiful man she had ever seen, so perfect that it almost hurt to look, in the next, it would be reptilian and monstrous. Faith closed her eyes and fought against the headache that the rapidly shifting form was giving her and took a deep breath.

"I've never been much of a joiner," Faith said shrugging, "sorry."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm not even clear on what 'here' is, pal, so any answers I have on that front are going to be lacking."

"I can feel your power," the being said harshly, reaching a ghostly hand out to lay flat on her chest.

"Anyway you can feel it without feelin' me up?" she retorted and swiped a fist at offending limb. Her hand passed right through, leaving her skin crawling with an unseen residue of age and evil.

"You are a danger to us," the figure hissed, "you are all blood and bone, taint and magic. Lineage stretching back into sisterhood and bondage. Your kind was forced and was made mighty."

"You want to vague that up a little more for me?" Faith asked stepping away, a sense of unease overcoming her. The specter smiled as it glanced at the Primitive behind her; it chilled Faith to her soul, it was so devoid of humanity.

"You are the origin, the beginning. How great your power must be to live on. We are alike the two of us."

"I am a messenger…I have no form. You cannot use me as you seek to use her," the Primitive replied gently, completely unaffected by the creepy nature of the conversation.

"Use me? Who do you think you are?" Faith interjected.

"The people named me Urthemiel, and this time _I_ will force you and my army will be made mighty. You will be the mother of monsters, your power passed through the conscious and a brave new world born out of your blood. We will fell Theadas with your power and the world will tremble before us," the specter explained.

"Sounds like a plan…like a crazy, serial killer, wears other people's skin kinda plan, but a plan nonetheless. Only problem? I'm not down with it. First off, I got zero motherly instinct, secondly, anyone tries to force me into anything has a tendency to wind up six feet under. Looks like you gotta find another poster girl for your creeptastic vision."

The specter grinned, mouth stretching back unnaturally far until it fair split his face in two. His body grew large and wings burst from his back, bones and cartilage snapping until it towered over her in the form of a rotting, hideous dragon.

"My army comes for you, for their brood mother. You have been marked, and the consciousness cries out for your capture. Soon you will belong to us."

With that last dire warning the landscape before her melted and the twilight of the desert once more surrounded her.

"Yeah, that wasn't ominous sounding at all," Faith remarked dryly, turning once more to look upon the Primitive.

"He seeks to keep you from your gift…twisting it to fit his purpose. You must not let him succeed," the elder slayer murmured.

"No problem on that front, sister. Dude gave me the willies…but I'm still not clear on what this 'gift' you keep referring to is...not like I've had a lot of time to go shopping in my recent adventures."

"It is the gift of all slayers, implemented in thousands of way since the beginning of time."

"Once again, not really following," Faith said impatiently.

"Death is your gift," the Primitive said simply. Faith blinked rapidly at her and cleared her throat.

"Death?"

"_Is_ your gift," the first slayer said with certainty, placing a hand upon Faith's cheek. Before she could say another word, the world went white and the Primitive, the land, everything, was lost in its power.


	7. Chapter 7

Faith blinked rapidly against the brightness and eventually the light faded and she found herself staring up at a thatched ceiling, flat on her back in an unfamiliar bed.

"At last," a put upon voice snarked from off to her right, and Faith turned her head to find Morrigan standing by a door, arms crossed over her chest in consternation. "I was beginning to think you would sleep the whole day away."

"Sorry," Faith said with a grimace as she pushed herself to a sitting position, "time was I could take a couple arrows to the stomach and get by on only a few hours sleep. I must be slipping in my old age."

"This is sarcasm, yes?" Morrigan replied clinically, "Why you humans insist on saying the opposite of what you mean is beyond me."

"Humans? You mean…you?" Faith shot back with a quizzical grin and Morrigan grumbled something low before turning her head away. "So, Skanky…mind tellin' me where exactly I am?"

"You are back at mother's cottage;" she replied primly, "Flemeth saved you from the catastrophe at Ostegar and brought you and your dim witted companion here to be healed."

"You mean Alistair? What happened at the tower?" Faith asked, suddenly on high alert.

"That man, Loghain, quit the field and left your King and Order to be slaughtered."Faith swore softly at the information and hung her head. It wasn't that she was exactly sad to hear the news, she owed no fealty to these people, but such needless death still affected her in some small way. "You are taking this better than your friend," Morrigan stated with curiosity, "he has barely made a sound save to sob in the most annoying way since he woke."

"Hey, wasn't my King, and not like I had a lot of time to get all GI Jane with the wardens," Faith sighed wearily as she rose.

"A most pragmatic attitude," Morrigan replied happily and Faith frowned at her.

"Doesn't mean those people's lives don't matter," she growled softly, "ever since my little rehab I've learned the value of having an army of people you can count on at your back. Leavin' 'em to be picked off like fish in a barrel? That's just fucked up."

"Then you intend to follow your companion's way of thinking and seek bloody revenge on the villain responsible?" Morrigan prodded.

"No!" she protested, "I don't throw down like that anymore."

"Which speaks of a time you used to," the woman relied smugly and Faith had to physically stop herself from punching the witch in the face.

"Yeah, that's something you'll _never_ want to bring up, Skanky," she threatened, "I may not do the deed anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't get one hell of a ride out of the journey leading up to it."

"As you say," Morrigan said with an infuriating air of superiority, "Mother is waiting to speak with you."

Faith spared her one more level glare before roughly pushing past her and exiting the dim cottage. When she stepped out into the glaring sunlight she angrily glanced around looking for Flemeth, intent on finally getting some answers to her many questions, but instead her gaze landed on a morose and fully healed Alistair.

"Maker, you're alive," he breathed as he rushed to her side. "Flemeth said that you would survive, but…Duncan, my bro-…Calin…all of them. They're gone."

"I know," she replied grimly, "Skanky told me all about it. This Loghain takes the cake for douche bag of the year."

"He will pay for their deaths," Alistair promised menacingly, a shadow of rage crossing his features. Faith shuddered at the unfamiliar expression darkening his jovial face and she felt memories of her past prick at her heart. She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off short by Flemeth striding up to join the pair.

"I was unaware that the Wardens dealt so heavily in revenge," the old woman said tartly and Alistair rounded on her in anger.

"That man is responsible for the deaths of _good_ men," he argued fiercely, "he cannot be allowed to walk away from this treason!"

"And can you afford to walk away from the blight to chase would be kings and tyrants?" Flemeth replied coolly, and Alistair stumbled back at her words. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find an argument but eventually his shoulders sagged in defeat and he hung his head. "As I thought," the crone said dryly pulling a bundle of scrolls from her tunic, "I believe you will need these."

"The treaties," he breathed in wonder, fingers fumbling to untie the decaying grey ribbon that bound the parchment.

"Um, sorry to interrupt," Faith interjected impatiently, "but I believe I was promised answers? I did what you told me, drank a nasty vial of blood, got cut to ribbons, and was forced into small talk with your bitch of a daughter…so tell me when exactly do I get to go home?"

"Not for some time, girl," Flemeth said dismissively, "your journey has only just begun."

"No," Faith said shaking her head, "in fact, not just 'no' but 'hell no.' I don't know what little apocalyptic power play is happening here, but I really don't care. I got plenty of that shit back in my world to deal with, and I don't recall signing up to fight in this one."

"As I said on the tower, child, _this_ is what you were chosen for."

"Wait…you were at the tower of Ishtal?" Alistair asked in confusion.

"Not that one, the other one," Faith huffed in annoyance. Alistair gave her a queer look before turning his attention back to the papers in his hand.

"Yeah, that cleared everything right up for me," he muttered and Faith rolled her eyes.

"You know what I was _chosen_ for grandma?" she asked as she stalked towards Flemeth, anger spilling out of her with every step. "I was chosen because some chick before me couldn't hack being a slayer and I was called up to show the powers that be how it was done. I was chosen to be the biggest, baddest, badass that's ever walked the earth and I do damn fine job of it. I slay vampires and kill demons and make the baddies cry, but _nowhere_ in the prophecies does it say that I help fight a war in some mystical realm that I don't even belong too. So find yourself a new general, because this shit is played out." She underscored her point by shoving Flemeth with a light and patronizing tap. Too late she realized her mistake and a moment later she felt herself be lifted two feet above the ground, the air around her suddenly oppressive and squeezing. She gasped in shock, only to have the air press tighter around her, restricting her air supply.

"There are forces at work here that you cannot begin to fathom, girl," Flemeth growled, hand out stretched as magic crackled in the air around her. "You think to threaten me? I have lived centuries longer than you and will not be struck by some uppity little wench who does not have the slightest idea of what true power is."

Faith saw stars wink in and out of her vision as her lungs worked frantically to breathe. Just as the world around her began to swim she was suddenly dropped to the ground and Flemeth let out an agonizing cry. Gulping in large, gasping breaths, she raised her head to find the old woman doing the same and Alistair standing before her protectively.

"If you ever seek to harm her with magic again, I will destroy you," he muttered dangerously. Flemeth gave out a barking laugh and shakily rose to her feet.

"You can try, boy," she said malevolently. When he took a step towards her she waved her hand in a gesture of surrender and drew herself up straight and tall. "But it shall be as you wish."

"What the holy hell just happened?" Faith croaked as Alistair helped her to her feet.

"I'll tell you what happened!" Morrigan shrieked as she burst from the cottage, gasping for breath and murder in her eyes, "That fool just cleansed the area of magic and caused me to spill stew upon myself. I have burns you lackwit!"

"Morrigan," Flemeth snapped, "calm yourself." Turning once more to face Faith and Alistair she smiled pleasantly though it did not quite reach her eyes. "Now, you were right in one regard…I promised you answers and you shall have them. You wish to return to your world? Then first you must save ours. You must find the archdemon and slay him by your own hand, Faith. Only then will the portal open and you can return from whence you came."

"You're sayin' I got slay the baddest of the bad guys before I can go home?" she groused. "Sure, no problem, point the way."

"Faith, it's not that simple," Alistair said mournfully, "this isn't some random darkspawn you can behead and be done with it. This is the sodding _archdemon_."

"Yeah? And? I helped scrunch the first patent pending original evil," she retorted, "what's some lousy dragon compared to that?"

"The boy is right," Flemeth muttered and Alistair rolled his eyes.

"I have a name, you know," he murmured sulkily. No one paid him any mind.

"This dragon is an old god reborn. Urthemiel made flesh and like nothing you have ever faced before," Flemeth continued. Faith started at the name and blinked.

"Urthemiel? Yeah, met the guy…gotta say, not a fan"

"You spoke with the archdemon?" Alistair asked in wonder and she rounded on him in exasperation.

"I didn't know he was this archdemon thing, ok?" she cried, arms thrown up in the air, "I just thought he was this creeptastic ghost dude who wanted to get his litter of demon spawn on me. Not that I can blame him, I am wicked sexy, but it's not like we chatted over coffee or nothin'."

"It is even more dire than I thought," Flemeth mused, "he seeks to use your power to birth a new race of monsters and overrun the world. Surely now you can see the threat he poses."

"Okay fine," Faith admitted, "I get it. This Urthemiel guy equals bad times all around. So no biggie, I'll handle it. And once I slay this dragon I can go home?"

"That coupled with but one more thing," the old woman said with a sickening grin. "My daughter Morrigan must accompany you on your journey."

"WHAT?" all three listeners shouted with varying levels of anger. Flemeth silenced them all with a crackle of magic that boomed throughout the forest and flash of red in her eyes.

"As I said, Morrigan will accompany you. And one night she will come to you and ask of you a favor. Should you acquiesce to her request and in turn slay the terrible beast, the magics will be in place for your return."

"You can't be serious," Alistair protested, "we're to go traipsing after the archdemon with nothing but a maleficar in tow, and, what, save the world all on our own? Pinch me I must be dreaming."

"You have treaties, yes?" Morrigan sighed irritably "I would highly suggest you use them."

"Oh I can already tell you will be a _delight_ to travel with," Alistair snorted nastily and the witch hissed at him in return.

"Oh yeah, this is gonna be loads of fun," Faith murmured before turning once more to face the old woman. "We done here?"

"By all means," Flemeth said wryly, waving them off, "do not let me stand in the way of destiny." The crone's eyes grew serious as she studied the slayer and Faith squirmed under the weight of her gaze. "You may not realize it girl, but your presence plays a part in the lives of every citizen of Thedas. Death is the gift you shall give them."

"What did you just say?" Faith asked quietly, hardly daring to breath. The words had turned her veins to ice and she could hear the Primitive's voice echoing through her skull.

"The death of the archdemon shall be your gift to all of humanity," Flemeth replied slowly, as if she were an addlebrained child. Faith swallowed and felt herself begin to relax, certain that it was just a freaky coincidence in wording.

The trio made to set off shortly thereafter, and Faith could not help but dwell on Flemeth's last words. As they trudged their way through the underbrush of the wilds, she spared one last fleeting look at the strange cottage, and found the old woman smiling at her in the most unsettling way, eyes shining with secrets and prophecies unknown.

Perhaps it hadn't been a coincidence at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ugh…so so so sorry for the delay. Not only has writers block been making me it's bitch lately, I'm also trying to write to OTHER fics at the same time as this one…makes it hard to do consistent updates. Forgive me. **

The smell of cook fires and desperation hovered on the horizon and Faith nearly sagged in relief as the village of Lothering came into view. The trio had been traveling through the wilderness for over three days and she had just about had her fill of moldy leaves, angry snakes, and Alistair's cooking. Her feet were screaming at her in protest, unused to the ungodly amount of walking they had done.

"About damn time," she muttered as the stone bridge of the imperial highway came into view, "I could seriously use a bath, and some new duds…I think I'm starting to emit fumes."

"You do smell overly ripe," Morrigan observed, "it is quite unpleasant…as is your manner of dress."

"Watch it, Skanky," Faith warned, "someone wearing a scarf over their tits is in no position to be makin' fashion judgments."

"I am merely speaking an opinion," the witch countered primly, "whether you take offense at such a thing is no business of mine…_that_ is something that lies squarely on your shoulders."

"And tact is something that, what, the mad scientists left out when they put your nuts and bolts together?"

"This way you speak, it makes no sense," Morrigan huffed, crossing her arms against her chest, "I have no way of following your useless prater."

"Then I'll dark-ages it up for you: stop being such a bitch," Faith said precisely and sweetly, "there's only room for one snarky dame in this little trio, and I'm way better at it than you…and way hotter to boot. Back me up here, Al."

"Whatever you say," their companion muttered distractedly, voice laced with sorrow.

"And here comes the weeping," Morrigan sighed in exasperation. Faith shot the witch a glare, but inwardly agreed with the woman. Once the group had left Flemeth's hut Alistair had slipped into a melancholy so deep he barely managed to string words together. Faith had left him to his grieving, warning Morrigan away with the threat of bodily harm, but as the days had passed with no sign of improvement in his countenance even she had to admit the lachrymose templar was grating on her nerves.

"Is it so out of the question that I would feel sorrow over the death of my comrades?" Alistair snapped at the witch, eyes narrowed in anger. "Oh, I'm sorry; I forgot you lack a heart under all that snobbery."

"Oh, I have a heart," Morrigan hissed through a knife sharp smile, "It's a tough, black little thing, quite hard. Beats pure reason and clarity through my veins."

"Oh my god, will you just shut up?" Faith cried rounding on the pair in exasperation, "Morrigan, that is the stupidest, most self-indulgent load of crap I have ever heard. We get it; you're a stone-cold vixen, stop reminding us every twenty god damn seconds. And Alistair…I don't know…buck up or something."

"They were your brothers in arms too, Faith," he said, voice laced with hurt that she would take such a stance on his mourning.

"For all of a day, Al," she argued. "Not like we bonded or nothin'. Look, it sucks that they're dead and there's no taking that back. But that's the way this life goes down; wartime and livin's shitty, ya know? Enemies jumping and the body count's high. Get my meaning, here?" Alistair stared hard at her for a long minute, eyes disbelieving and naive.

"Do you truly feel nothing for those that have fallen?" he murmured, "I don't understand that." He brushed past her, angrily making his way to the looming bridge that would take them to Lothering. Morrigan grinned smugly at her, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"Is he now, 'bucked up' as you say? It seems to me you only made things worse," the mage said primly.

"Shut up and go do something useful," she growled before stomping off after their errant templar, "Go scout ahead or, I don't know, find something to wear that doesn't make you look like you just stepped off a pole."

"Why would one stand on a pole?" Morrigan asked, genuinely flummoxed, "is this a common practice in your world?"

"Only for girls with Daddy issues," Faith called back over her shoulder before breaking into a light sprint. When she caught up to her fellow warden a few moments later she gently laid a hand upon his shoulder, only to have it angrily brushed off. "Hey," she protested, jogging to stand in front of him, "trying to offer a little sympathy here."

"I've had enough of your 'sympathy,' thank you," Alistair snapped, seeking to step around her.

"Wait," she huffed, shifting to block his way, "look, I really kinda suck at this whole touchy-feely thing, ok? I get that these guys meant more to you than me, but all I'm saying is that we got a whole mess of other shit to worry about right now, and I can't have you lost in your pity party indefinitely. I gotta get home, Al, you don't even _know_."

"I know there are other matters to attend to," he sighed wearily, crossing to sit on a nearby boulder, head hung low, "but I haven't the slightest idea of how to go about attending to them. Duncan…he would have known."

Faith heard the loss and love in the templar's voice when he mentioned their commander, and something clicked into place inside her mind, and she inwardly cursed at her stupidity. She awkwardly sat beside him on the dusty ground and peered up at his handsome, withdrawn face.

"You really cared for Duncan, didn't you?" she asked, the question more of a courtesy than an inquiry.

"He was like…well not really, but the closet thing I've had to a father in all my years," Alistair muttered. Faith hesitated then took the plunge, reasoning that since no one in Thedas knew about Mayor Wilkins then no one could give her grief for still loving the guy.

"I know what you mean," she said softly, hands idly picking at the grass before her, "back in the day…before this whole bad-girl-gone-good thing, there was this guy. Real cheese ball, ya know? But in a loveable kinda way. Sure, dude was evil and had no soul, but…he saw me…really saw me. Made me feel like I was worth something…I think he loved me even. But as with all things not firmly on the side of good in Sunndy D, he ended up six feet under. So years later, when the First is annoying the fuck out of all us scoobies with its parade of dead people, everyone else was getting' visits from their moms…but me? When the First wanted to screw with my head, he appeared as Mayor Wilkins…called me 'firecracker' and everything…the whole bit. Really spun me…even now, fightin' on the side of good, I still miss the guy, still love him and just want him to put me in that stupid pink dress and buy me a milkshake. So I get it, Al, I do…but you can't keep this up. I gotta fight a freakin' dragon, and I kinda need you to back me up."

Alistair glanced sidelong at her and sighed before standing up and offering her had. She gladly took it and the templar pulled her to her feet in one graceful motion.

"We good?" she asked warily and Alistair nodded.

"Yes…though maybe next time you should lead with the father figure story," he suggested gently, "It's a better choice than 'buck up'."

"Hey, sympathy was never really my thing," Faith snorted defensively, "Never really been in a position where I had to do it much. Buffy always took care of that stuff…rallying the troops and all that sentimental shit. I just kinda lurked in the corners offering snark and sex appeal, ya know?"

"Well, you are more than adequate in those fields, I assure you," Alistair muttered off handedly as they made their way back to Morrigan, though he stopped short when he realized what he just said. A sudden stain of crimson splashed across his cheeks and Faith smiled wryly at the sight.

"So you noticed, eh? And here I thought my swagger was hittin' over your head, Al."

"No…that is to say…I meant…snark! Yes, snark…you are quite adequate in being…snarky?" he stuttered in embarrassment, voice ending in a lilt as if he was asking her for confirmation. Faith laughed and shook her head, running a hand over his arm.

"We really gotta work on your flirting skills, Al…you're gonna get zero play if you keep that up."

"I have never really had the opportunity to…flirt," he muttered in embarrassment.

"I don't by that for a second," Faith snorted, leading them once more back to a sulky Morrigan, "that chiseled jaw? That body all muscled in just the right places…girls are probably hangin' off you all the time."

"The only 'girls' I was ever around were the lay sisters in the Chantry," Alistair replied, voice still hesitant and bashful, "When not being stuffed full of religious piety I was taught to be chivalrous…a gentleman, by women who were a good twenty years older than me." Faith stopped in her tracks at his words and it took a minute for the man to realize she had ceased walking. He turned to look back at her and found the slayer staring at him in opened mouth shock. "What?"

"Don't even tell me Mr. tall-not-so-dark-and-handsome has never gotten his naughty on," she laughed breathlessly.

"My 'naughty on'? I don't quite follow."

"You're a virgin!" she cried, almost in horror. Alistair blushed and hunched in on himself defensively and faith mentally kicked herself for reacting so strongly. "Hey…it's okay. Really…I think it's noble as hell…most men only got one thing on their minds, usually involving a school girl outfit and heels. It's refreshing, ya know?"

"Really?" he asked, hope sparking in his voice.

"Hell yeah," she replied, "Just…now I feel and dirty and corrupting for all that shit I said around you. You probably think I'm some kinda ho."

"No," he hurried to interject, "Not at all…please. I didn't mind, really. I quite liked it, actually."

"Aw Al, don't go getting' a crush now, alright?" she said gently, the faintest hint of sadness in her tone, "That road leads to badness. Trust me. I don't do the long haul thing…once I get bouncy with a guy there's not much more I need to know. I'd break you, Al…you need a nice, repressed, milk maid of a girl to pop your cherry…not some leather clad commitment-phobe with a wicked looking rack."

"I think I only understood every third word you just said," the templar said frowning.

"Just forget it," Faith sighed as they rejoined Morrigan. "What's up skankaliscious?"

"There are bandits up ahead," the witch said icily. "Easily overtaken, but their presence is annoying nonetheless."

"Bandits?" Faith echoed, unsure as to what exactly the word portended.

"Vultures preying on the poor souls fleeing the darkspawn," Alistair said in disgust.

"Oh good, I could use a bit of a beat down," Faith said cracking her knuckles, "let's do this thing."


End file.
